


The Adventure Of Mrs. Farintosh's Opal Tiara

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [8]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Coercion, F/M, Jewelry, London, M/M, Technology, Theft, Trains, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 21:38:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14819348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: A clever thief takes advantage of new technology to achieve what looks like the perfect crime – until Sherlock wields a big stick and lets the train take the strain!





	The Adventure Of Mrs. Farintosh's Opal Tiara

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PeppermintSeason](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppermintSeason/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

People today tend to forget that the Victorian Age was one of technological advancement the like of which had never been seen before. The previous two generations had had to cope with the massive changes wrought by the steam railway locomotive, the introduction of the penny post, and then the almost instant messaging available to them through the telegraphic system. Of course those of a criminal bent were amongst the first to take advantage of any new technology, but unfortunately for them humanity had also evolved someone capable of finding them out - my brother Sherlock. Who nearly made a grown many cry when he wielded a big stick.

Kean has just muttered something about wielding an even bigger stick. He really is quite incorrigible. _Fortunately!_

۩۩۩۩V♔R۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Mr. William Sherlock Scott Holmes, Esquire_

Lawyers, as we know, get paid by the word. If the amount that I had so far extracted from Mr. James Smith-Wright was anything to go, I was barely out of the farthings column. Then he suddenly burst into life.

“It is _incredibly_ difficult, young sir”, he managed at last. “You see, It was a police station yesterday concerning one of my clients. It was an _incredibly_ straightforward affair; indeed, I do not know how the sergeant in question managed to make such a meal of the whole thing. I still of course had to fill out the inevitable forms – there is a lot of truth to that old saw about making criminals complete as much paperwork as the legal professions have to, so they would not have half the time to get up to the mischief that they sometimes do – and I mentioned to the young constable how I wished that another case I was involved in was just as _incredibly_ simple. His name was Rory Penry-Jones, a most affable young fellow, and he recommended you as someone who can sometimes solve the unsolvable.”

_(I would later find that Constable Penry-Jones had just transferred to that station from south London where he had worked alongside Constable Oakham, for whom I had secured part of the reward for solving the Ricoletti Affair. It is, as they so often say, a small world)._

The man stopped for breath. After the desert of a conversation in the past quarter of an hour, that had been the proverbial Noah's Ark Flood.

“You have a particularly difficult case concerning one of your clients?” I asked politely.

“Yes... no.... well.... not exactly.”

Normal service had been resumed. I sighed.

“Everything I say to you in this room is confidential, is it not?” he asked anxiously.

“Of course”, I said, somewhat surprised at the question. He drew a deep breath.

“My company deals with several _incredibly_ prestigious clients, you see”, he said. “Any hint of scandal.... it could be _incredibly_ damaging.”

“I can hardly reveal anything when you have told me nothing”, I said a little impatiently. He took another deep breath.

“Before I married Clarissa, my good lady wife, I.... I had a reputation for being something of a rake”, he admitted, staring hard at the floor. “It was, I am sorry to say, well-merited, and..... and there was a child.”

“Go on”, I said gently.

“A daughter, Alice”, he said. “My father – he would have thrown me out of the house had he known. Fortunately my elder brother John was extremely helpful; we found a family – the Baileys - on one of our Scottish estates who raised her as their own. I met and married dear Clarrie two years later, so it was one chapter of my life that was put very firmly behind me.”

I suspected that 'Clarrie' knew all too well about her husband's pre-marital indiscretion. Women have a knack for finding out things like that, despite the best efforts of those who try to stop them. But the man in front of me was nervous enough as it was so I waited for him to continue.

“We managed to arrange a position for her as personal maid to Mrs. Agatha Farintosh”, he said. “She is the sister of the Duchess of Bidford, but _incredibly_ rich in her own right, as their father left his wealth split equally between the two ladies. She married Andrew Farintosh, the junior government minister.”

I had little interest in politics, so the name was unknown to me.

“Two days ago, Tuesday, Mrs. Farintosh, her husband, Alice and Mr. Farintosh's valet Mr. Brian Lingard travelled down to London from their Argyll-shire home. They took the afternoon train from Lachlan Hall Halt, a private station serving that residence which is located a little way above the town of Helensburgh in Dunbartonshire. They changed at Glasgow for the night sleeper to London. She had with her her famous opal tiara, which it is said was purchased from the Russian royal family and to be _incredibly_ valuable. She definitely had the item at Glasgow, as she wore it to the dining coach soon after.”

Show-off, I thought. Or perhaps an 'incredible' show-off!

“Her compartment was locked whilst she was in the dining-car”, the lawyer explained. “She returned to her coach, and turned in for the night. The following morning Alice woke her an hour prior to their arrival at Euston and then checked on the tiara, only to find it gone.”

“Did the train stop anywhere?” I asked.

“Unusually no”, he said. “It was a Caledonian Railway train, and the London and North Western Railway over whose metals much of the journey was accomplished has lately fitted water-troughs so that engines can travel non-stop. The train did slow to forty miles per hour on passing them, and also to twenty miles per hour for a stretch around Watford due to a signal at caution, but it did not stop.”

“So how could the tiara be stolen?” I asked. “I assume that everyone was searched at Euston?”

“Mr. Farintosh was insistent on it”, he said. “Mr. Miles Buttermere, one of the railway's longest-serving employees, had visited her in her coach after dinner and checked if it was acceptable to lock everything up, or if she needed to send to the dining coach for anything. She thanked him and went to bed. The tiara was definitely in her possession when he left the coach. Equally definitely, it was not there eight hours later.”

“Mr. Buttermere?” I asked.

“He locked the carriage when Mrs. Farintosh left”, the lawyer said, “then went to attend to the other first-class passengers, in the carriage on the other side of the dining-car.”

“So that leaves only the people in her coach”, I said. The lawyer nodded. 

“The coach has one large compartment for passengers and two smaller ones for servants”, he said. “There is no way anyone could have accessed it during the journey, and yet _incredibly_ the tiara was stolen. Hence a ring is drawn around Mrs. Agatha Farintosh, her husband Andrew, poor Alice, and the valet Mr. Brian Lingard.”

“The husband?” I ventured.

“Andrew Farintosh is fifty-one, an under-secretary in Her Majesty's government”, he said. “Unfortunately, he has a predilection for gambling. His wife's brother-in-law the duke has already had to step in to clear his debts on at least one occasion.”

“Motive”, I said. “And opportunity.”

“On the other hand it was he who was insistent about the police searching all three of them at Euston.”

I had a thought.

“What about Mrs. Farintosh herself?” I asked. “Was the tiara insured?”

“A good point”, the lawyer said, “which is one reason that the police are so interested in this case. Mr. Andrew Farintosh took out an insurance policy on it only last month to the value of five thousand pounds!”

My eyes widened. That was a lot of... motive.

“Your.... Miss Bailey?” I asked. The lawyer hesitated.

“I am not impartial here”, he said, “but Mrs. Farintosh was very firm that Alice could have had nothing to do with the theft. And she would seem to have no motive unless she were working with someone else. She is seeing a footman in the family's service, but he was back on the Scottish estate at the time.”

“The valet?” I asked.

“We are on shakier ground there”, he said. “Mr. Brian Lingard, thirty-six, and has spent time in jail. His family is loosely connected to the Farintoshes through a marriage some decades back, and Mr. Farintosh gave him his position about six months ago; before that he was just a footman. He has performed satisfactorily, Mr. Farintosh told the police, although there was a small matter of some gold cuff-links going missing some months back. They were never recovered.”

“It is a big jump from cuff-links to a tiara”, I observed. 

“Indeed”, the lawyer sighed. “It is _incredibly_ difficult to see how it was done. It is not as if one of them just threw the thing out of the window, is it?”

I looked hard at him. A strange thought had just occurred to me.

“I need some more information about the case”, I said. “Who is the investigating officer?”

“Sergeant Willow down at Paddington”, he said. “Not the most imaginative of men, but sound enough. Do you have any ideas?”

“I have one”, I told him, “but it depends on certain other facts falling into place. I can only hope that Sergeant Willow will co-operate in the matter.”

۩۩۩۩V♔R۩۩۩۩

Sergeant William Willow was one of those policeman who was so thin that he might have disappeared if he had suddenly turned sideways. He was friendly enough when I approached him, although I suspected that was at least partly because he could scent the possibility of a promotion at the end of the day. 

He and I were standing in one of the sidings of the London and North Western Railway company at Euston. Before us was the infamous sleeper carriage. The sergeant showed me inside.

“On Mr. Farintosh's orders, we went through the place from top to bottom, sir”, he said. “Even checked for secret compartments and the like.”

I suppressed a smile a that. Clearly some policemen read too many detective novels these days!

“Did you find out the information that I requested?” I asked. He took out a notebook. 

“Of the four people in the coach, only Mr. and Mrs. Farintosh undertook journeys in the days leading up to the theft”, he recited. “They stayed at a friend's house in London; Miss Bailey and Mr. Lingard were already up at Lachlan Hall.”

“Mr. Farintosh did not have his valet?” I asked, surprised. Maids were one thing but using another man's valet was.... well, that was like using his hair-brush!

“It was Mr. Lingard's week off”, the sergeant explained, “and Miss Bailey's grandmother, who lives near the Hall, was ill, so her mistress allowed her to remain there for the duration. The Argyll-shire Police visited Lachlan Hall immediately after the theft, and they wired me that as a mistress Mrs. Farintosh was seen as hard but fair, whilst none of them thought much of her husband. I understand the Farintoshes were only in London for ten days which may be why they – or more likely Mrs. Farintosh – felt they could cope. They returned to Scotland on the fifth.”

“Together?” I asked. He looked puzzled. 

“I do not see what....”

“Were they together?” I pressed. 

“No”, he said. “Mrs. Farintosh went to call in on a friend in West Suffolk – Newmarket; she stayed one night at Cambridge - whilst Mr. Farintosh visited an acquaintance of his in Blackpool also for one night.”

I resisted the urge to cheer.

“Blackpool is accessed by a branch-line from the town of Preston, I believe?” I said. The sergeant stared at me in confusion

“Yes”, he said at last. “Me and the wife went there last year.”

I thought for a moment. 

“I need to see _outside_ the coach”, I said.

“Outside?” he asked, puzzled.

“Yes”, I said firmly. “Come!”

I led the way and we were soon outside the compartment. There was a raised plank walkway to enable people to, presumably, clean the coach windows, and I sprang easily up onto it. I stared around the two window frames, then smiled.

“The case is nearly complete”, I said happily. “Did you bring in Mr. Lingard as I asked?”

“I did, sir. Is he....?”

“We have a call to make before we speak to him”, I said. “Let us not keep him waiting!”

I led the way out of the siding, and out of the yard. I had one stop to make before we reached the station, although when I emerged from a hardware store with a single bamboo cane, the sergeant looked at me as if he thought but was too polite to say that I had frankly lost it.

In fact I almost had it.

۩۩۩۩V♔R۩۩۩۩

“Mr. Lingard!”

I smacked the cane down on the desk in front of the valet. I had thought he had looked pale already, but as I had known it would the sight of that slender piece of wood made him turn a whole new shade of white. 

“Sir! I beg of you!” he pleaded.

I took out a notebook and pencil, and slid them across to him.

“All is known”, I said firmly. “Your only hope of avoiding a long time in jail is to write the address – you know the one to which I refer – in my book within the next sixty seconds.”

“I cannot....”

I placed my hand gently on his shoulder. He was sobbing quietly now. I felt for him, but I had no choice.

“If you do”, I said, “I give you my word that I will do what I can for you. But only if you help me first.”

I could see the moment that he broke. His hands shaking he somehow managed to write something in the book provided. I took it and handed it to Sergeant Willow.

“Sergeant, get a warrant then take as many men as you can to this address, and search it from top to bottom”, he said. “With luck you will not have to look too hard. My belief is that the person there will not be expecting to have their house searched, and will not have hidden the object that recently came into their possession.”

“What is that, sir?”

“Mrs. Farintosh's opal tiara!”

۩۩۩۩V♔R۩۩۩۩

Only a couple of hours later, and the police station had a visitor. I have to say that I rather liked Mrs. Agatha Farintosh. Though I did see her at her best, when she entered the interview room and the first thing she saw was her opal tiara on the table.

“You have found it!” she boomed. “That is wonderful!”

“Thanks to this gentleman”, Sergeant Willow said gruffly. “Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”

“Then you shall most definitely have the reward that I was going to offer!” she declared. “I am so happy!”

I escorted her to a chair and sat down opposite her. This was not going to be easy.

“There is, my lady, still the matter of how the tiara was taken”, I reminded her.

Her face darkened.

“I am _sure_ that it was not my dear Alice!” she declared stoutly.

“Your maid is quite innocent”, I reassured her. 

She smiled.

“Unlike your husband.”

That got rid of the smile.

“Impossible!” she declared. “Why, the policemen at Euston searched all of us most thoroughly, Andrew included.” She suddenly paled. “You do not think that I.....”

“Madam, I am sure of your innocence”, I said firmly. “Unhappily, I am equally sure of your husband's guilt.”

“I do not see how he could have done it”, the sergeant pointed out.

“This was an ingenious crime”, I said, “and had it not been for the gentleman who brought it to my attention making an off the cuff remark, I might not have realized just how it was accomplished. When we were discussing the case, he said 'it is not as if one of them just threw the thing out of the window'.”

“From a moving train?” the sergeant queried. “He had someone by the side of the line?”

“In the pitch dark, and on a train which if it were just a few minutes off schedule could be miles north or south of a fixed point?” I chuckled. “No. He was cleverer than that. Do you remember how he visited Blackpool shortly prior to the theft?”

“I wondered why you wanted to know about that”, the sergeant said.

“One of the wonders of our age”, I said, “is the travelling post office. Using a system of hooks and nets, bags can be brought onto and taken off a train at speed.”

I could see that the sergeant had got it. 

“Your husband familiarized himself with the system”, I explained to a stunned Mrs. Farintosh, “and how the night sleeper always exchanged bags at Preston Station, the junction for Blackpool and lines to many other towns. He coerced his valet into obtaining the tiara, placed it in a parcel that he had prepared earlier, and at the appropriate time hung it out of the window on a bamboo cane hook. When the station staff at Preston came to collect the bags they would not think it overly odd that one parcel had somehow slipped out.”

“The marks on the coach!” the sergeant exclaimed.

“Yes”, I said. “I had hoped there might be a small splinter of wood inside the coach, but Mr. Farintosh had cleaned the area thoroughly. However, the slash of the breaking bamboo cane left a scratch mark on the outside of the coach, exactly where I knew to look for it.”

“So my own husband stole from me!” Mrs. Farintosh said heavily.

“I am sorry”, I said sincerely. “He posted it to an old servant of his who, fortunately, lived in London. I obtained the address from Mr. Lingard earlier today, which is how you now have your tiara back. May I be so bold as to ask a favour?”

“Of course!” she said. “Anything!”

“Please can you provide a reference for Mr. Lingard?” I asked humbly. “I know that he played his part in this but he was coerced under threat of dismissal.”

She smiled at me.

“I am so grateful for all you did”, she said. “Yes. I shall provide you such a reference. I shall be staying at my sister's London house in Grosvenor Square if I am needed again, sergeant.”

“I am afraid that we shall have to keep the tiara for evidence, at least until Mr. Farintosh confesses, madam”, the sergeant said. “But I promise you that we shall return it as soon as possible.”

“I know it is safe here”, she smiled. “That is enough for me.”

We both bowed as she stood up and sailed majestically from the room. The sergeant scratched his head.

“Why a bamboo cane?” he asked. “Surely he knew that it could break?”

“He counted on it”, I said. “There was a danger that, in breaking, the rod used could smash against the window of the coach. If the wood had been too strong then it might well have broken that window, impacting it at a speed of several dozen miles per hour.”

“Oh”, he said. “I see. Well, I'd better get round to Mr. Farintosh. One doesn't want to keep a gentleman waiting, does one?”

۩۩۩۩V♔R۩۩۩۩

It will doubtless come as no surprise to the reader that Mrs. Farintosh immediately sued for divorce from her husband which, unusual as it was in those days, was quickly granted. Mr. Andrew Farintosh served a decade of hard labour for his crime, and upon his release had the decency to take himself off to southern Africa, from where he was never heard from again. Miss Alice Bailey remained Mrs. Farintosh's maid for some tow years before marrying her Scottish footman and, as I said earlier, emigrating. The lady duly kept her promise over the reference, and two months after the crime Mr. Brian Lingard had a new post as footman in one of London's top clubs, where he did very well for himself.

۩۩۩۩V♔R۩۩۩۩


End file.
